


Shockwaves

by BansheeLydia



Series: Shockwaves [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Allison Argent, BAMF Skye | Daisy Johnson, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 09:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13901175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: A sudden, muted rumble rocked the building, the walls around them shaking.  When it settled, cement dust fluttered down from a new crack in the ceiling and the light bulb swung back and forth, light bouncing erratically off the walls.=Allison’s mouth curled into a smile.





	Shockwaves

**Author's Note:**

> this is an Agents of Shield and Teen Wolf crossover, with Allison Argent/Daisy Johnson as the main pairing. It's set in an AU where Allison was recruited by SHIELD and is part of Coulson's team, but the rest follows the series 1-3 timeline of AOS and is set primarily in the AOS world. 
> 
> It's set in a canon divergence after the middle of s3; Ward was killed by Coulson on the strange planet, but HIVE never made it through the portal, so the events after that in the show never occurred. Lincoln is alive, but not with Daisy. Trip is also alive, and Hunter and Bobbi are still with the team. This is an alternate version of the team coming across the Ghost Rider.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: this fic contains graphic description of torture, violence, and explicit language. For more information, please see the end notes.
> 
> This is the first part of a series. More Teen Wolf and AOS characters will appear in subsequent parts of the series and there will be more of a fusion between two fandoms.

Despite what people may think, Allison didn’t do well with torture.

Sure, she’d been hardened to pain before SHIELD had even recruited her, and ever since, she’d had her fair share of injuries. She didn’t necessarily _fear_ pain; she was in the wrong line of work if she did. It was in her training to deal with it, to compartmentalize it and hold up under torture. A spy that spilled their secrets under duress wasn’t a very good spy, after all.

She faced it every time she went on a mission, prepared for it every time she engaged in a fight. But there was a difference between knowing the risk was there, between striding towards it with fire in her belly, and being taken against her will. There was a difference between the hot flash of pain from injuries sustained in battle and the slow, deliberate drag of a blade across her skin.

A couple of broken ribs after infiltrating a HYDRA base, or a concussion after a run in with a not-so-friendly enhanced asset? Sure. But being forced to look into the coldness in her torture’s eyes as he dug his knife just that little bit deeper into her skin with a precision born from practise, watching the way he enjoyed it, took _pleasure_ from it, as he inflicted pain? 

That…that was another thing entirely.

“Just tell me, sweetheart.” 

Allison jerked her gaze back to his.

He was short and thin, none of the exposed muscles that seemed a staple for his men, shown off in a deliberate play for intimidation when they’d dragged her into this room. No scars, either; he wasn’t a fighter, Allison figured, just someone with a sick hobby that had developed into the very specific skill set his employers were after. His skinny arms belied the strength in his body, the power behind the punches he dealt, knowing just where to land them for the maximum impact. His teeth were slightly yellow, the front two cracked, and his hair was thinning at the top. He stank of peppermint gum and shaving cream. 

“I keep telling you.” She said each word slowly through gritted teeth. “I don’t _know_. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

He gave a little disappointed click of his tongue and flicked the blade slightly, slicing another cut on the inside of her forearm. She bit down on her tongue, refusing to make a sound. They probably weren’t deep enough to scar, but the pain was effective, slow and searing. Hot, sticky blood dripped down her skin; between that and the headache lingering from being knocked out, she felt dizzy, out of focus. The fact that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in a significant amount of time probably wasn’t helping, either.

He lifted his knife to his mouth, carefully licking it clean of blood. Allison fought the urge to gag, revolted. 

He crouched, placing his hands on her thighs. “I’ve broken stronger agents than you, Miss Argent,” he said, voice deceptively soft. “Just tell me and this will all be over.”

Allison almost laughed. By _over_ , she knew he meant he’d kill her. As long as she was alive, she was useful, so she was keeping her lips firmly sealed.

It helped that she genuinely _didn’t_ know what he was talking about. Of all the SHIELD agents he could have kidnapped, he’d managed to pick the one who couldn’t give him _squat_. Part of her felt kinda smug about that, in a weird way.

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t exactly an expert in torture, but she knew this was just the start. A few well placed punches to bruise her ribs, a split lip and an aching jaw, and the cuts on her arm. It hurt, but the psychological impact, at this stage, was more effective than the actual physical injuries. Next would be her nails. Then deeper wounds, not enough for her to bleed out too fast, but enough for her to fear infection if she didn’t get medical attention. Then broken bones; fingers first, then her kneecaps, probably, or ribs. They’d save her teeth for a last resort; after all, it was hard to talk with a mouth full of blood and no teeth. And last of all would be her eyes.

She wouldn’t talk. She may not know the answer to his questions, but there was plenty she _could_ say, enough secrets that might earn her way to a quick death. But she wouldn’t. 

She didn’t do well with torture, no. She couldn’t handle the pain, or the fear that came with _waiting_ , anticipating what agony he would inflict next. But she wouldn’t talk. She couldn’t; she was an agent of SHIELD. It was her job to keep those secrets, even if it meant torture, even if it meant her own death.

That was what she’d signed up for.

She’d been tortured once before. She’d only been in that cell for two hours, but the trauma had endured much longer. She’d been a shaking wreck, and what was almost worse was the shame she felt for that. She should be stronger, able to handle it better. Other agents did.

It had been Agents May and Morse that sat her down and talked her through it. She’d seen a therapist, worked her way through it, and, when she was ready, they trained her in how to hold up under torture, the way they both had done too many times in their career.

She focused on that now, on everything they’d taught her, as she slowly breathed in and out and tried to drown out the pain. 

His hot breath slapped against her cheek as he heaved a disappointed sigh. “I was hoping you’d be smarter than this, Miss Argent.”

Allison curled her cold, aching fingers inwards, handcuffs biting into her wrists. Her arms were cuffed securely to the arms of the chair and her ankles were tied to the legs, keeping her effectively bound. 

The room she was in was small and, likely, underground. No window, just the light that came from a bare bulb on the ceiling, bright enough to sear Allison’s eyes and encircle her and her captor in a pool of light, but keep the rest of the room in shadows. 

It was freezing cold. Allison was still wearing the suit she’d worn when she’d been taken; Coulson had assigned her to accompany Brigadier General Talbot to a meeting after they’d been given Intel on a threat on his life by the Watchdogs. Apparently, they weren’t big fans of his involvement with SHIELD, seeing it as an affective affiliation with Inhumans. 

When the car had crashed, Allison’s first thought was that it was an attempt on Talbot’s life. She’d dragged herself out of the wreck of glass and metal, ICER in hand, but it was only after the blow to her temple, when she’d been dragged into the back of a van and Talbot had been left in the ruins, that she’d realized, too late, it was _her_ they were after. 

Her shoes and blazer were gone, leaving her in the tank top she’d worn underneath, and the chill was harsh against her bare skin, her toes pressing uncomfortably against icy concrete. It felt like the walls were sucking heat from her like leeches and the air smelled thick and damp. Her mouth tasted like iron, and not just from the cut on her lip. 

When he stood, Allison braced herself for another blow; instead, she heard the sound of a cap unscrewing and a second later, the lip of a bottle pressed against her sore lip. She met his gaze, assessing, but she doubted he’d be poisoning her at this point. He still thought he could make her talk and even if he did kill her, she knew he would take more pleasure in a more hands on approach than watching a poison take her. She tipped her head to allow him to pour water into her mouth. It was cold and clean and she gulped it down, her body desperate for it. She didn’t know when she’d next get some water. 

Once the water was gone, he set the empty bottle aside. The crunch of the plastic expanding again was loud in the room, ringing in Allison’s ears. 

“Have a think, Miss Argent,” he said genially.

The grate of metal accompanied his exit. She listened to the slam of the door and click of locks and bolts, then leaned her head back. A tremble threatened to rock through her, but she suppressed it. She needed to focus on getting out or, if that was impossible, at the very least steel herself for whatever her torturer brought next.

She’d got herself free from handcuffs plenty of times before, usually by breaking her thumb or wrist and slipping free. But each of her wrists were cuffed securely to the arms of the chairs, which formed closed loops; she could slide the cuff along and lift her arms slightly, but movement beyond that was impossible, and she had no way of breaking either wrist or thumb.

She was starting to feel clearer thanks to the water, a little less lightheaded and fuzzy. She tuned the pain out and struggled, trying to get leverage to free her ankles. Even just having her legs free was better than nothing; she could fight her way out with her wrists bound. 

When she grew tired and was no closer to getting free, she stopped. She needed to preserve her energy and focus on other ways of getting out. Sweet talking wouldn’t convince her captor to release her; hell, it would probably give him some kind of sick satisfaction. She needed to figure something out. 

She’d counted down two hours before the door screeched open again. The rattle of squeaky wheels on concrete echoed as the door slammed closed. Allison squinted in the bright light, watching her captor step into the light, pushing a small metal trolley towards her. He rolled it to a stop next to her and offered a pleasant smile as he opened the piece of cloth that rested on top of it. 

Inside, a tidy row of nasty looking implements gleamed in the light. They looked like a sinister mix of a dentist’s instruments and the contents of a toolbox; sharp blades and pliers and something that looked alarmingly like a bone saw, except serrated. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, giving her a cordial smile. “They’re sterilized.”

Allison bared her teeth. 

He ghosted his fingertips across the instruments lovingly and they clinked together, the sound sending a chill down Allison’s spine. After some deliberation, he picked up a delicate pair of pliers. 

She watched as he turned, reaching for her hand. Her hand snapped into a fist and he chuckled, easily prying her middle finger free, straightening it out. He clamped the end of her fingernail in the pliers, adjusting his grip ready to pull, and Allison closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath as she braced herself.

A sudden, muted rumble rocked the building, the walls around them shaking. When it settled, cement dust fluttered down from a new crack in the ceiling and the light bulb swung back and forth, light bouncing erratically off the walls. 

Her captor released her nail and Allison breathed out in relief. The pliers clattered back onto the table as he looked up, searching for a source of the quake, his face twisting into confusion and unease.

Allison’s mouth curled into a smile.

Another rumble, closer this time, made Allison’s chair rattle and her captor reach out to the wall for balance. 

“The _fuck_ is that?” he demanded, scrambling for the walkie talkie clipped to his belt.

“That,” Allison said, satisfaction curling around the world, “Is Agent Johnson.”

The door blasted open, breaking off one hinge as it slammed into the wall. When the dust settled, Allison saw Daisy stood in the doorway, hand still extended. There was a slim cut on her cheek, her short hair wild, and her gauntlets gleamed when the light bulb swung towards her. She met Allison’s gaze and her mouth tipped into a relieved grin.

Allison’s captor grabbed a gun from his waistband; his aim was sloppy, untrained, but in the tight confines of the room, he had a strong chance of hitting Agent Johnson. Her gaze snapped to him and another quake shook the gun apart. He dropped it, shouting urgently into the walkie talkie, and armed men thundered into the corridor outside the room. Daisy turned towards them and was forced backwards into the room as the men spilled inside, swarming the small space. 

Allison watched Daisy fight, a controlled, forceful flurry of punches, blocks and kicks, using the wall to flip herself into the air and over one guard as she quaked another hard enough to knock him and the men behind him to the floor. 

When there was a lull, she looked over, hand thrust out, and the chair beneath Allison snapped apart. 

She slid the handcuffs off the broken arms and made quick work of the rope around her ankles, freeing herself completely. 

Her captor shot towards her, snatching a scalpel from the table. His strike was wild and uncontrolled and she blocked easily, the cuts on her arm stinging as their arms collided. She gripped his wrist, twisted until the knife dropped into her waiting hand; she spun, flipped the scalpel to adjust her grip, and drove it into the base of his throat.

His eyes widened, hands scrambling at his neck as blood spilled out, coating the front of his shirt in seconds. He stumbled back, mouth opening and closing, and Allison snapped a hard kick to his chest; he careened into the wall and bounced off it face first to the floor. After a few seconds, his body went still, a pool of blood spreading beneath it.

Allison looked away. Daisy had taken out three more men, but one had managed to tackle her to the floor. He didn’t expect Allison coming up behind him, or the blow to his temple; once he was taken care of, she held out her hand to Daisy.

She took it, getting to her feet, and grinned. “Agent Argent.” 

Her tone always held a little amusement when she said Allison’s name, emphasising how close her surname sounded to ‘Agent’. It had irritated Allison at first, but now she liked it.

“Agent Johnson,” she replied, smiling. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Daisy shrugged slightly, dark eyes sparkling. “Figured you might need a hand.” She took in Allison’s swollen lip and bruises, the cuts lining her arm. “You okay to fight? ‘Cause there are a lot of guys out there. With _really_ big guns.”

A door slammed in the distance, footsteps echoing off the walls. Allison met Daisy’s gaze and smiled, pushing past her into the corridor. Guards surged towards them from both directions and they turned, pressing back to back. 

Allison always fought well with Daisy at her side; they could work together without needing to speak, a silent communication threading between them. When a surge of men crowded towards Allison, too many for her to fight all at once, she ducked on instinct, and a rumble sent the men flying, knocking the ones behind them down like dominoes. 

Allison kept fighting, focusing on taking down as many guards as possible. A bullet slammed into the wall to her right, paint splintering off in all directions, and Allison knew they couldn’t keep this up, not when she didn’t have any weapons. When Daisy crouched, Allison rolled over her back, foot slamming into the throat of the guard aiming a knife for Daisy’s neck, and then ducked to the ground just in time.

The next quake was stronger, cracks spreading out in circle around Agent Johnson as the corridor shook. When the world went still again, not a single guard remained on their feet.

Daisy got to her feet, tugging Allison up with her. “Let’s go.”

They ran for the door on the right. Some of the guards were trying to get back to their feet; Allison slammed the door shut and a burst of Daisy’s powers made sure it would stay closed. They were in a narrow, badly lit stairwell; a set of metal curved downwards, another set up. 

Daisy grabbed the handcuffs on each of Allison’s wrists, quaking them hard enough to wrench them off. They clattered to the floor and Allison rubbed the sore marks they’d left behind, grateful. She started for the stairs leading up, but paused, one hand on the rail, when Daisy didn’t follow.

“Go ahead,” she said. “The others are up top, but there are more hostages on the level below. This place is rigged with enough C4 to level the whole base and it can be set off remotely; I need to get them out before that happens.”

Allison nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Daisy shook her head. “The others need your support more than I do. I’ll meet you at the quinjet, okay?”

There wasn’t time to argue, so Allison tipped her head in a quick nod, reluctant. “Be careful.”

She got a quick grin in response. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Daisy disappeared down the stairs and Allison started the climb up. The three floors above were empty, guards scattered and unconscious. She reached the surface level and yanked open the door, rushing into a brightly lit corridor. 

Several clicks echoed off the walls and Allison froze. When her eyes adjusted to the searing light, she saw a cluster of guards stood between her and the only other door, guns trained on her. 

There wasn’t time to run, or duck, or hide, there wasn’t time to feel fear or even acknowledge the fact that she was about to die. All she could do was close her eyes as the crack of guns going off filled the corridor.

But nod a single bullet landed.

When Allison slowly opened her eyes again, confused, she was met with a body in front of hers, arms spread to cover her. She looked up and relief pounded through her. 

“Agent Gutierrez.”

He offered a grin that was full of the same mix of exhilaration and _what the fuck am I doing here_ that Allison still felt even after years of working for SHIELD. “Hey, Allison.”

He had an ICER in one hand, another holstered at his thigh, but they wouldn’t be enough to take out the guards that were already getting over their confusion and regrouping, taking aim again. 

As Allison watched, however, the guards suddenly crumpled; between one blink and the next, they were unconscious on the ground, and Elena appeared, suddenly, at the other end of the corridor. 

Allison snapped open the holster at Agent Gutierrez’s thigh, sliding the ICER free and firing off a shot over his shoulder; the guard that had been creeping up behind Agent Rodriguez hit the wall and slid to the floor, out cold. 

Elena glanced back at him, and then back at Allison as she grinned.

Allison smiled back and turned to Joey. The back of shirt was covered with several splotches of melted metal and, not for the first time, Allison thanked fuck that Elena and Joey had joined the team. 

“Mind if I keep this?” she asked, shifting the ICER to her dominant hand. 

“I can do better,” Elena replied, sliding the straps of the case she’d been carrying on her back down her arms. She held it out.

Allison smiled, taking it. “Thanks.”

“A lot of people scattered when we got here,” she replied. “We have agents outside picking them off and aerial support, but Coulson said he needs you on the roof.”

Allison nodded, accepting the comms unit Joey handed her. “Daisy’s downstairs getting the hostages. She could use some back up.”

They nodded and Allison headed through to the roof access stairs, the rusted metal creaking under her bare feet as she ran up them. She paused by the door, crouching as she put the case on the floor. She pressed her thumb against the print reader to unlock it, flipping it open, and smiled slightly at the familiar weight of her folded bow as she took it out. She extended her arm, unfolding the bow with a snap, and took out the quiver, opening it up; she opened the bottom compartment of the case, selected the arrows she needed, and filled the quiver before sliding it onto her back.

She stood and kicked open the door. There was only one guard posted on the roof and she had her bow over his head before he could lift his gun; she pulled the bowstring taut against his neck, cutting his air supply, and turned, kicking his leg out from beneath him to flip him back and over her shoulder. He hit the ground and she flipped her bow in her grip, slamming it across his jaw; blood sprayed from his mouth as his body slumped, unconscious.

She clipped her bow to the quiver on her back and slid the comms unit into her ear. “This is Agent Argent. I’ve taken the roof.”

“Welcome back, Agent Argent,” Coulson’s voice, threaded with a muted warmth, filled her ear. “You’re needed on the north point of the roof. We need you to turn any stragglers back to the building.”

“On it.”

Allison jogged to the north corner of the roof, dropping to a crouch on one knee to assess the situation below. She could see several agents fighting with guards, but a small cluster had managed to bypass them. There were four of them and they’d separated, running towards the forest that fringed the base. 

Allison rose to her feet and took up her bow again, aiming. She shot off four arrows in quick succession; they sank into the ground a few feet in front of the stragglers and exploded a second later in a huge shower of sparks.

It did the trick; blinded and disorientated, the four men instantly turned back around, instinctively clustering into a tight group. Allison kept up a stream of arrows, herding them back towards the building. When they got close enough, a bright bolt of electricity crackled through the air, taking care of the group. 

A guard broke away from the ones fighting, making a break for a vehicle by the entrance doors. The quinjet hovered in the sky in the distance and a spray of bullets from it took care of him before he could get to the jeep. But the quinjet’s weaponry wasn’t designed for precision, which meant May couldn’t take out any of the guards fighting SHIELD without running the risk of hitting an agent too. 

But precision happened to be Allison’s specialty. 

She pointed the bow down, nocking an arrow, and aimed for the group of agents swarming around Agents Mackenzie and Morse. She didn’t line up lethal shots; her arrows were laced with the same concoction that was in the ICERS. She aimed for calves and shoulders, taking down guards one at a time. Slowly, the numbers dwindled, and Allison knew exactly how to give her team the upper hand. She took an arrow from her quiver and aimed for the circle of guards crowding towards Agent Hunter.

“Hunter,” she said into her comms. “You might wanna duck.”

He dropped to the ground just as she fired. The arrow pierced the ground and strands of electricity shot out of it, arching too high to touch Hunter but taking down the group of guards. 

“Well, that’s new,” Hunter muttered, getting to his feet. “And bloody terrifying. Electricity, really?”

“FitzSimmons whipped it up for me,” Allison replied, smiling. “I kinda like it. It’s like a taser, but more efficient.” 

Lincoln made a disgusted sound.

“What?” she said. “You got a thing against tasers?”

“I don’t like ‘em.”

Allison laughed. “Aren’t you basically a walking, talking taser?”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. Allison fired off another shot, taking down the guard that had been closing in behind Agent Morse, and a second later, May’s voice crackled over the comms.

“Guys, I’ve got men headed your way. A lot of them. Someone must have called for back up.” 

“Daisy,” Coulson said. “You out yet?”

“I ran into a complication,” she replied, breathless. “Elena and Joey are on their way back up, but they’ve got more hostages than we thought. Some of them are Inhumans. They’ve got Alisha.”

“Do what you can to get everybody out, we’ll hold off the back up. Once we’re out, May will pick you up. But the second that C4 timer starts, I want you out of there, you got that?”

Allison was sure she wasn’t the only one who noticed that Daisy didn’t give an affirmative. Instead, she said, “Sir, there’s more. I found a computer terminal. If I can hack into it, I could get some Intel.”

“If you can, do it. But getting those hostages and yourself out safely is your first priority, understood?”

“Understood, Director.”

“I’ve got Trip and Piper headed your way for back up,” May said. 

“It won’t be enough,” Bobbi replied grunting slightly as she caught her batons and swung one across the jaw of an enemy. “We need more ground support.”

“I’m on my way.”

Allison drew an arrow from her quiver and took a running jump off the edge of the roof. Wind whistled past her as she fell, gripping her bow tight as she flipped her body and let loose the arrow. It shot up and bit into the side of the building, clamping securely. She freefell until the rope attaching the arrow to the bow went taut and she jolted to a stop, swinging towards the side of the building. She bent her knees, absorbing the impact as her feet hit the wall.

She looked down. There was only a short drop to the ground, so she detached the bow from the rope, falling the rest of the way. When she hit the ground, she rolled and snapped back to her feet, jogging towards the action.

She saw Lincoln first and he turned to her, hand shooting out; she ducked and rolled just in time for the electricity to crackle above her, raising the hair on her arms as it took out the guard that had been coming up behind her. She moved to Lincoln’s side. 

“Uh, guys?” Bobbi’s voice came over the comms. “We’ve got a problem. An enhanced kind of problem. We need -.”

Her voice cut off and a second later, her body flew through the air, barrelling through people like a bowling ball. She hit the ground with a cry, rolling onto her side and curling up slightly in pain.

“Bobbi!” Hunter turned, gun raised.

“Hunter, don’t engage -!” Coulson started, but too late. Hunter’s body crumpled next to Agent Morse’s. 

The woman that walked towards them was short and lean, but she tossed Agent Mackenzie aside like he weighed nothing when she breezed past him. Dark hair curled around her shoulders and she smiled, clearly enjoying the way Allison quickly backed up, out of reach.

Electricity crackled in Lincoln’s hands. He let it build, then lashed out, hitting her with everything he had. She grunted, pained, but kept walking, the electricity barely slowing her pace as she fought against it.

Allison had one arrow left. She aimed and let it loose, pressing a button on the side of her bow. The arrow shot straight through the woman’s calf, bringing her down to a crouch, and whistled as it arced back. Allison caught the stem, aiming again as the woman got back to her feet. The wound didn’t heal, but it didn’t slow her either, and Allison walked backwards as she fired again, this time aiming for the chest. Even that didn’t stop her. Allison kept firing, the arrow returning in a neat arc each time, but it wasn’t designed to keep going indefinitely and the woman kept coming despite her wounds.

“Coulson,” Allison said. “We need to leave. Now.”

“I’m on my way,” May replied.

The arrow finally burned itself out, dropping to the ground, and Allison was left weaponless. She snapped the bow onto her quiver, ready to fight with her hands. Lincoln lashed out again, sweat beading on his forehead as he poured everything he had into trying to take her down. 

Coulson’s voice filled her ear. “Guys, that timer just started. You need to get out of there. Now.” 

Allison’s back hit the side of the building. She was trapped.

A redhead streaked towards them, jumping through the air; her fist landed against the woman’s jaw with a crunch. She hit the ground and rolled back to her feet as two more, identical redheads crowded in, delivering punches and kicks, a blur of movement that Allison could barely keep track of.

 _Alisha_.  
For a second, it seemed like Alisha had the upper hand, but then she and all of her replicas were being tossed aside as effortlessly as the woman had thrown away the other agents. Before the enhanced could advance again, though, the ground shook beneath Allison’s feet and the woman stumbled back. She turned, lips pulling back into a sneer.

Daisy stood by the doors to the base. She smirked. “Glad I got your attention.”

She cupped her hands a few inches away from each other, her power building between her palms with enough force to make the ground shake. Allison reached out to the wall, trying to keep her balance as the trees swayed and several people hit the ground. When it started to get too much, Daisy snapped her hands forward, throwing all of that power at the enhanced.

The woman crumpled with a scream. Several of her limbs lay at sickening angles and Allison’s stomach rolled at the sight. 

A sudden wind whipped her hair around her face and made the trees creak. She looked up as the quinjet landed, ramp already open. Allison helped move Agents Morse, Mackenzie and Hunter on board, then joined Daisy in making sure all of the hostages and other agents were safely on the quinjet. She grabbed an ICER from Daisy’s waist holster, picking off the few guards who had been brave (or careless) enough to stay instead of run when the timer started, giving Daisy the cover she needed as she ushered the last couple of hostages on board. 

Finally, she and Daisy were the last ones on the ground. Allison turned towards her.

“What did you do to her?” Allison asked, nodding towards the enhanced woman’s prone body.

“Shattered every bone in her body,” she replied with a shrug, striding up the ramp.

Allison followed and the quinjet took off before the ramp even started to close. The small space was cramped with people; those who were unconscious or too injured to stand had been strapped in with harnesses. 

“You’re not gonna make it if you don’t hurry up,” Coulson warned.

A rumble filled the air and this time Allison knew it wasn’t Agent Johnson. 

“Hold on!” May shouted from the pilot’s seat. “This is gonna be a rough ride.”

Allison dropped her weapons and grabbed a safety strap dangling from the ceiling, holding on. The blast was loud and she swore she could feel the heat of it even inside the relative safety of the quinjet. The shockwave was too close, shaking the whole jet until Allison was sure it was going to tremble apart entirely. Alarms blared, the quinjet spiralling out of control. Bodies crashed into each other, shouts echoing in the small space as Allison grit her teeth and held on, heart thundering in her chest.

“I can’t stabilize!” Agent May yelled. “We’re going down!”

“Hold on!” Daisy shouted back, letting go of the harness she’d been clutching on to.

She dropped to a crouch, hands on the ground, and squeezed her eyes shut. Sweat beaded on her face and she cried out, the gauntlets on her arms shaking as she tried to absorb the shockwaves, her body taut and trembling.

“Daisy!” Allison warned, having to shout over the noise. “Your body can’t take it.”

She opened her eyes, looking up at Allison with an intensity that took her breath away. She cried out again through gritted teeth, leaned her body towards the ground, and, finally, the quinjet stabilized enough for Agent May to take them out of the jet’s tailspin.

The ramp hadn’t shut completely; there was a gap large enough for Allison to see the fiery ruins of the base as they flew away from it, angling higher into the sky. May hit a button and the ramp sealed completely, plunging them into darkness. A second later, the emergency lights came on.

“Everyone okay?” Agent May asked over her shoulder.

There were a few quiet replies, too many people in shock to answer just yet, but a quick sweep of the bodies told Allison that no one had been dangerously hurt. Daisy’s quick thinking and May’s skilled flying had saved their lives.

“We’re good,” Allison said. “How’s the quinjet?”

“She’ll hold up long enough to get us back to Zephyr One.”

Allison nodded, slowly releasing the painful grip she’d had on the strap. Daisy had collapsed back and her chest heaved, an arm thrown over her face. Allison crouched, reaching out to rest a hand on her knee.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

She moved her arm, looking at Allison. “Are _you_?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. As rescues go, I think we can call this a success.”

Daisy cracked a grin and leaned forward, gently tugging Allison into a kiss. 

*

The rest of the flight was smooth, but Allison didn’t feel truly safe until they’d docked onto Zephyr One. The ramp lowered and Allison watched as agents started helping the hostages off, ushering them towards the small infirmary.

There’d be enough bodies crowding in there, so Allison didn’t follow. Instead, she headed over to where Coulson was giving orders, waiting until his attention was on her.

“Sir -.”

“We can debrief later, Agent,” he said, then called, “Simmons?”

Allison reluctantly sat down as Jemma headed over, med kit in hand. She let her poke and prod and shine a bright light in her eyes, longing for debrief and bed. She didn’t even know how long she’d been awake at this point.

“How are you feeling?” Jemma asked.

Allison shrugged slightly. “Pretty good, considering.”

“Well, we’re all very glad to see you back in one piece.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, giving Jemma’s hand a brief, gentle squeeze. She closed her eyes as Jemma cleaned and tended to her wounds, talking quietly as she did so, mostly to herself. 

“You need water, food, and rest,” she finally told Allison, snapping her gloves off. “And keep those cuts clean.”

Allison nodded, getting to her feet. “Thanks, Jemma.”

She found Coulson and the others in the control room. She stood mostly out of the way as Lincoln recounted what had happened with the enhanced woman, filling the gaps that Coulson hadn’t been able to see over comms. When they finished, Coulson turned to her.

“Is Talbot alive?” she asked.

He nodded. “A couple of cracked ribs and a concussion. He’ll be fine.”

Allison blew out a breath. She picked at the edge of one of the bandages on her arm. Daisy leaned against one of the consoles, watching her.

“It was the Watchdogs who took you,” she said.

Allison shook her head slightly. “The man who interrogated me wasn’t one of them.” 

It had been easy to tell, after all. He didn’t have the same wild, almost uncontrolled, vicious hatred and resentment and anger that members of the Watchdogs had, that bristling urge for violence and war surging within them, that fire in their eyes. 

His eyes had been cold and calculating, watching sharply for every sign of pain and fear she’d exhibited. He’d been calm, pleasant in that sickly, creeping way that made her feel sick. He hadn’t been filled with hatred or anger, only pleasure in his work.

“They were working for someone else,” Daisy agreed. “Following their orders.”

“HYDRA?” Allison guessed.

“Maybe,” Coulson allowed. “Or it could be another group or individual with the power, resources and influence to organize and arm the Watchdogs.”

“He wanted to know about a potential Inhuman,” Allison said. “That was all his line of questioning was focused on. The _Ghost Rider_ , he called them. Apparently, they’ve been causing a lot of fear and disruption in LA. He thought they were one of ours.” She hesitated, then asked, “ _Are_ they one of ours?”

She expected an outright denial, or for Coulson to issue a gentle reminder about her clearance level. She didn’t expect the confused wrinkle of his brow.

“No,” he replied. “They’re not. I’ve never even heard of them.”

“Yeah, well, I might be able to help with that,” Daisy said. She slipped a small USB out of her pocket, moving to one of the consoles. “I managed to download what I could from the base. I’ve got all their files on one ‘Ghost Rider’.”

Allison watched her flick through various files and reports before pulling up a video. It was shaky, filmed on someone’s camera phone, and Allison had to squint to make out what she was seeing.

“Wait, is that person on fire?” Fitz asked, alarmed.

The camera focused and Allison felt her breath stutter. That was someone on fire, alright, but it didn’t seem to be hurting them. Instead of a face, a sneering skull stared out from the flames, a chain twisted between two gloved hands as the man approached two people scrambling from an overturned vehicle.

“What in the hell…” Mack’s voice filled the sudden silence in the room.

The man – _Ghost Rider_ – reached out, gripping the neck of one of the panicking soldiers – no, _Watchdogs_ , Allison realized, recognizing the hideous mask on the ground. He crumpled, seeming to burn from the inside out, screaming until, suddenly, he was just…gone. Ash on the ground.

Bile burned Allison’s throat.

“That’s an Inhuman?” she asked, looking at Daisy.

“Could be,” Daisy said quietly, frowning. 

“As powers go, that’s…” Mack shook his head slightly. “His damn skull was on _fire_.”

May shrugged slightly. “We’ve seen Inhumans with worse.”

Allison thought of Lash – no, _Andrew_ , suspended in the matrix gel in one of the vaults while FitzSimmons worked on a cure for him. Yeah, they’d seen worse, but whatever Ghost Rider was – Inhuman or something else – he was dangerous, not in small part because of whoever was interested in him.

Daisy flicked through some reports. “He’s gone after a lot of people. Most of them Watchdogs.”

“Okay,” Mack said. “So he’s killing Watchdog members. That’s why they want intel on him, they want to take him out.”

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it,” Coulson agreed, but he was looking at a blurred photo of a flaming skull on the monitor, frowning slightly.

“Which means you don’t think that’s the case,” Allison said.

“It could be that whoever’s arming and organizing the Watchdogs, whoever ordered them to bring you in to be interrogated about the Inhuman…they want him for other reasons.”

“They want to use him,” Daisy surmised. “As weapons go, he’d be pretty damn effective.”

Allison thought about the way the man had screamed as he’d burned apart. The idea of that kind of power being used by someone or something else, something like HYDRA or similar, sent a chill down her spine.

“So what do we do?” May asked, eyes on Coulson. 

The Director stared at the screen, watching the video replay over and over. Finally, he cast his gaze around all of them before speaking.

“We find him first. And we bring him in.”

*

There were many, many things about Coulson’s qualities as a Director that Allison appreciated. One of those was that he always kept his debriefs, though thorough, considerably short.

Stepping into a hot shower was like climbing into heaven.

The water rinsed away dried blood, grime and sweat and soothed Allison’s bruises. She closed her eyes and leaned against the shower wall, head tipped towards the spray as she let everything that had happened to her disappear down the drain too.

Assess. Compartmentalize. Deal with it and move on.

Rinse and repeat.

She sighed and rolled her neck slightly. Coulson would want her to speak to Dr Morrell tomorrow, but right now, her thoughts were focused on the Intel the rest of the team were trying to gather on the Ghost Rider. In the next couple of days, Coulson would be assigning a team to head to LA and try and bring him in.

He’d be assessed, put on the Index. Maybe he’d be an asset, maybe not. The dude had kinda murdered people after all, although given they were Watchdog members, Allison didn’t exactly feel that sorry for them. But the most important thing was not letting him fall into very dangerous hands.

Allison remembered her very first mission as part of the Welcome Wagon; a visit to the UK to talk to a teenager with low-level telekinesis. She’d been all too happy to speak to them and accept their help and the whole thing had been wrapped up so quickly that Allison had even been given a little downtime to take in the local sights and attractions.

And now they were facing people with flaming skulls, who could burn a man apart with just one touch.

The hand on Allison’s hip would have made her jump if it wasn’t so familiar by now. She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes as the shower door closed again and Daisy gently stroked wet hair back from Allison’s face.

“How do you feel?”

Allison opened her eyes, looking at Daisy. “I’ve had worse.”

Daisy tilted her head but didn’t dispute that. Instead, she just gazed at her for a long moment before reaching past Allison for the soap. She lathered it in her hands and started to wash Allison.

“Aren’t you needed?” she murmured.

Daisy smiled. “Yep.”

Despite everything, Allison laughed. “I meant by the others.” 

“We’ve found everything we could, which annoyingly isn’t much. The dude really is a ghost. Coulson told us to rest up and regroup in the morning.” Daisy kissed Allison’s shoulder. “And anyway, you need me more.”

Allison didn’t deny it. Instead, she closed her eyes and relaxed, allowing Daisy to take care of her. By the time her hair was washed and conditioned and she felt squeaky clean again, Allison was practically a puddle on the shower floor. She yawned, slumping against Daisy, and felt her smile against her skin.

“Come on,” Daisy murmured.

Crawling into their bed was another slice of heaven. Allison melted into the mattress, sighing as her aches and pains seemed to ease slightly, her body more comfortable. Daisy slid in behind her, tucking in close to spoon her.

Tomorrow, they’d have to move on, hit the ground running. Allison would have to speak to Dr Morrell and the team would have to figure out this Ghost Rider situation. 

But for now, she could relax into the comfort of Daisy’s arms and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF TORTURE: Allison has been taken captive after a car accident. Her injuries from being tortured are detailed. There is one particular scene where her captor is ready to pull her nail out with pliers and this is explicitly detailed, though he does not do it. There is also a graphic death scene involving someone being stabbed in the throat, as well as descriptions of blood, pain, and mostly canon-typical violence. There is a moment when someone's entire body is shattered, and descriptions of Allison's arrows piercing someone's legs and chest. This fic also contains explicit language.
> 
> If any of this may be harmful to you, please do not read. Please let me know if you feel there is anything else I need to tag and warn for.
> 
> This is the first part of a series. More Teen Wolf and AOS characters will appear in subsequent parts of the series and there will be more of a fusion between two fandoms.


End file.
